Commended - Senior section
Elizabeth College
As the moon blurs behind a blanket of thick cloud, a black cat winds his way down the dimly lit cobblestone street. Pausing to observe the rowdy, red-faced men gulping beer at the bar, his whiskers twitch as the President appears on the TV monitor above them. Proud and smartly dressed, he gives a speech about recent trade agreements and the prosperity of the nation, which is followed by drunken cackling and clinking of glasses.
His ears flicker as the President’s smooth voice offers condolences and support to their neighbours, whose communities are battling against rising mental health problems. A rosy-cheeked old man cracks a joke and the group bursts into raucous laughter, spooking the cat.
Scampering onto the road, he dashes past small buildings and cars until he’s sprinting through bushland. Massive oaks rise above him and bushes snag on his fur as he races toward a tall chain-link fence. Leaping up and clambering over, neatly avoiding the crown of barbed wire, he scales the fence and drops to the ground. Behind a darkened building, he is drawn to a light shining from a small, half-open window sitting just above the ground. Squeezing through, he lands on a cool, laminate floor and investigates the hallway. A sharp scent of fish entices him deeper into the building, down more stairs and into an office. The pungent smell wafts under an intimidating metal door left slightly ajar. He wriggles through and pads into a white, sterile room.
A lanky, clean-shaven young man stands over a stainless-steel bench, muttering to himself. The cat’s mouth waters as the man takes a bite out of his tuna sandwich and hovers over beakers of odd-smelling liquids. Leaping silently onto the bench, the cat helps himself to the tuna. Soon, the young scientist absentmindedly reaches for his sandwich again and instead finds a furry head.
“Crabsticks!” Tripping over his own feet, he hits the floor with a solid thump.
***
The cat returns most days, content with the young man’s company (and his lunch) while he works. One day the cat arrives to find six cages on the bench. “Hey buddy,” the scientist says cheerily and scratches behind the cat’s ears. Straightening, he potters about with papers, assigning a few sheets to each cage. Hopping up to rub against the scientist’s sleeve, the cat peers through the bars of Subject 1, Feb. 2145. A rat paces restlessly, staring back with beady eyes and a quivering snout.
“You can have my sandwich, but you can’t eat them,” the young man warns, placing a vial of pale blue liquid on the bench. Putting a peanut on a petri dish, he coats it with a drop of liquid and pushes it into the cage. The rat sniffs it, then crunches it down swiftly.
The cat cocks his head. Curious, he pads over to the next cage, marked Subject 2, Aug. 2144. This rat is quiet and breathes slower.
Weaving around the other cages, the cat pauses to examine the last experiment. Subject 6, Aug. 2142 stumbles around in a daze. Spotting the blue vial behind the cat, it dashes into the bars, grasping at the air. The cat recoils.
“Don’t worry, they’re not dying. Just dumbed down a little.”
The cat blinks.
“I know, it’s not morally-sound, but we’ve gotta improve the formula somehow. It’s for the good of the country.”
Another blink.
“Well what would you do in my situation?” He sighs and rests his forearms on the bench. “I can’t tell anyone. What would people do to the scientist who helps contaminate exported food?”
The cat’s tail flicks against his sleeve.
His eyebrows draw together. “Why should I speak up anyway? If it were that bad, someone would have already said something.”
The response is an unwavering stare.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m just a guy doing his best to be a model citizen.”
The staring intensifies.
The scientist rakes his hair back and shifts, unable to meet the cat’s imploring gaze. “I won’t let you sit here and judge me.” The door slams shut behind him.
The cat doesn’t come the next day. Or the next. When he finally returns, the scientist paces anxiously, studiously avoiding the cat and burying himself in his work.
A week later, he throws open the door and words come pouring out.
“I’m sorry, bud. You were right. This work is inhumane and I can’t take it anymore. People need to know-” he stops, jarred by the sight of a soldier holding the cat by his scruff.
The High Administrator, head of the project, leans on the bench beside them, arms crossed. “It really disappoints me to hear you say that.”
A yowl from the cat snaps him out of his trance. “Sir, why are you- When-?”
The older man interrupts him with a rough hand on his shoulder. “I run this place, son. Nothing gets past me.”
“Then you must see how cruel this is,” he retorts. “People are dying!”
The Administrator tightens his grip and speaks through his teeth. “I am making a tough choice for the safety of my country. Now you have to choose: Your country or the enemy’s.”
“I won’t poison an entire country. That’s a threshold you can’t make me cross.”
“I don’t need to. There will be others to replace you.” His voice is hard and cold. The young man suddenly becomes aware of the soldier’s hand resting lightly on her gun.
Fear drowns the flame of resistance, and he hangs his head. “Our country,” he murmurs.
The Administrator’s grip relaxes and he slaps him on the back. “Good boy.”
Striding through the door, the soldier signals to him. “What shall I do with the cat, sir?”
Glancing at the young man briefly, he replies, “Get rid of it.”
Panic rings through the scientist’s body as the soldier grips her gun and disappears with the cat. But the Administrator’s careful gaze pins him to the spot.
***
Left alone in his lab, he stares at the remnants of his tuna sandwich. Trembling with grief and loathing, his fear-dampened heart sparks back to life, and starts to burn.
